knowing

i know your body better than i
know my own…at least these last few years

it seems so wrong…mothers study their newborns, marveling at the wonder of a new life, and the magic in each tiny finger and toe…

yet i find myself taking stock of each now familiar feature, your landscape, with every touch..some thirty years past your birth

your brown eyes close with pleasure as i stroke your boyish mop of dark, curling hair…every scar, every ridge of mended bone, bearing witness to your struggle

i massage and stretch once strong, firm limbs…now relieving cramps and contractures

how much i’d rather hear complaints of sore muscles…of bosses, and schedules, and bills

this is your life, i am a participant…no longer an observer watching as you rise

©️2019